


Not Your Doll - MobFell Edition.

by LadyAnatares



Category: Mobtale (Fandom), Undertale (Video Game), underfell (fandom)
Genre: 1920's era, Alternate Universe - Mobtale, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Dadster, F/M, Gang Violence, Gangs, Gangsters, Mobfell, Mobtale - Freeform, Not Your Doll AU, Objectification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Sexism, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution, Racism, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Violence, mafiatale, reader is female, w.d. gaster? more like w. d. badster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:08:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8803810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAnatares/pseuds/LadyAnatares
Summary: Honestly I have no idea what I'm doing with this, lol. I just came up with the idea and decided to just roll with it. Don't expect big things out of this fic, it may stop at some point and then go unfinished for eternity. I already have way too many on the go here as it is.I've thrown together the Underfell and Mobtale/Mafiatale AUs into this classic 1920's era gangster story. Our dear crimson-souled Reader is thrust into the world of monsters one fateful night. Things happen, Gaster overhears it, gets involved. Good and bad times are had by many.





	1. The Fight.

“You goin’ ta buy something, or are you jus’ wastin’ my time again?”

The well-dressed young man is leaning against the counter of the quaint little boutique your boss owns and manages. He’s introduced himself as Derrick Smith, son of some hotshot business tycoon you’ve never heard of, and he’s trying his damnedest to catch your fancy. You roll your eyes at that.

The high walls are adorned with handmade tapestries and framed cross-stitch works, shelves of wood carvings, imported ceramic dolls and hand-sewn bears for children, and some other random odds and ends. Susan also liked to make paper flowers and arrange then in baskets. It was all very decorative stuff, little old birds loved to come spend their husbands’ money morning, noon, and night. For you, it pays a _very_ generous three dollars a day, plus whatever you can get on consignment when someone happens to notice your own contributions. This job was a stroke of luck in multiple ways.

“If I cannot interest you in dinner,” he sighs. “Then, perhaps I could make a purchase instead?”

“Are ya _askin’_ me if you wanna buy something, or _tellin’_ it?” you charge him.

“… Telling,” he says, steepling his hands together as he leans further over the counter. “Point me to something _you’ve_ made.”

Ugh. Men like him just don’t know how to quit on a girl. You ought to know, after all. You fold your arms across your chest and nod towards the knitted section. “I’s the wrong season for it, but I make the hats n’ scarves over there.”

With far too much haste, he makes his way over to a large wicker basket packed full of the things. An orange scarf seems to grip his attention, though it looks slightly yellow now from age. He pulls it from the pile and brings it back over to you at the counter.

“How much, madam?” he asks.

You look at it, then look up at him. “Two dollars,” you charge.

“Really? For a _scarf?_ ” he protests.

“I’s _quality_ work if I do say so myself. So, do you wan’ it or what?”

“… Fine. I’ll accept your price,” he huffs in resignation, digging into his pocket for a pair of dollar notes. Once he locates them, he straightens them out in his fingers and slides them across the counter towards you.

“Pleasure, sir,” you beam at him. “Wan’ it wrapped?”

He shrugs. “Might as well.”

You pull a sheet of stock paper from below the counter, flattening it out on the counter before folding up the scarf into a tidy pile in the centre, bringing the sides of paper up and folding it over, pressing down on it to form creases. Then, quick as you can, you tie a length of plain ribbon around it before offering the completed package to the young gentleman.

“Thank’ya for your patronage, sir,” you bid, hopefully in parting.

He accepts the package from you, but steals your hand before you can pull away, and your mood instantly sours. He brings your fingers to his mouth as he inclines his head downwards, kissing them softly. “I _will_ return,” he asserts. “And, someday soon, I _will_ acquire your company for dinner.”

You pull your hand away and take a step back, annoyed. “Only _one_ of those things is for sure,” you respond coldly.

He smirks at that, before turning to leave, the bell on the door chiming twice as it swings closed behind him, bouncing once against the frame. You almost race to bolt it behind him.

“ _Finally!_ ” you groan loudly. Closing time was supposed to be _half an hour ago_ , and you haven’t even _swept_ yet! Damn him for keeping you so late.

You mark off the last sale of the day into the ledger, noting that you’re taking a dollar for yourself from the consignment, and then you count the drawer as quick as you can before rushing to grab the broom and finish up.

* * *

 

“Is that a man or a woman?”

You grumble to yourself, hiking your bag up onto your shoulder better and holding it firmly. Someone’s following you, and they have friends. Ain’t that just peachy.

“I’d be _real_ disappointed if it’s a man,” one of them asserts. “’Cause I’d _love_ to get a handful of that _rump_.”

Your grumble is almost audible now.

“Yeah, same,” a third voice chimes in. “But, what manner of lady wears suspenders an’ _slacks?_ ” he scoffs.

“The _unladylike_ kind,” the first man suggests, much to the amusement of his partners.

You look down towards your feet. You’re not ashamed of your choice of legwear, but plenty of folks seem to think you _ought_ to be. It’s just much easier to manage crawling under shelves for back stock or climbing ladders to fetch the hanging tapestries. Pants didn’t hike up or catch on every damned thing like skirts did - they were just tons more practical.

A man’s arm finds itself weighing down your shoulders, and you let out a surprised squeak in response. His breath is _overpowering_ , like he’d been swilling cheap spirits all evening. “Whoa,” he gasps when he sees your face in the dimming light. “Hey, babydoll, you goin’ somewhere tonight?”

“Tha’s the _plan_ ,” you huff, bringing up your arm to remove his, but he just grips your opposite shoulder tighter. You flinch away as a new set of fingers find their way into your hair. “Can I help you boys wi’t somethin’?” you challenge.

“Let’s get down to it,” the third voice croons. “How much is a night in your bed worth?”

“It _ain’t_ for _rent_ ,” you hiss back, struggling a bit in the drunk man’s grip. He’s still got you firm.

“Slum bitches like you _always_ have a price,” the second man says from somewhere behind you, then you feel a large hand grab your behind. “So, what’ll it be?”

* * *

 

_Boring._

Sans _hated_ surveillance duty. Sure, he didn’t have to _do_ a whole lot on surveillance duty - and doing nothing was otherwise his favourite thing to do - but if he nodded off while watching over the human brats, the boss would dust him for sure. He grumbles at that. At least he nabbed a good rooftop tonight, and a decent sized box of crisps. He buries his massive bony hand into the carton and withdraws a fistful of the delicious snacks, shoving them in his sharp-toothed maw and crunching away noisily.

It’s _so_ noisy, in fact, that he just about misses the yell he hears from down below.

“ **what the shit?** ” he curses, standing up from his chair and casting a discerning red eye over the streets below.

It _sounded_ like a woman’s voice, but there were a few problems with it. First, it didn’t sound like either of the brats – he would know it in his _soul_ if it was them. Second, if it _was_ them, they were trained to know to shout _his_ name, specifically. Third and most importantly, despite the clearly female throat that produced it, that scream… It didn’t exactly sound _feminine_.

As he contemplates the noise, he hears another. A man howling in pain, and then an oddly feminine grunting. No, more like some kind of _battle cry_.

… What the hell was going _on?_

He should really keep out of sight and keep an earhole out for the kids, but he’s curious. _Too_ curious. Curious enough to blow his cover in the human part of town?

Maybe.

Quite possibly.

… Screw it. He can just pop over to the next rooftop. Damn thing’s sloped, but he can hold on. He doesn’t _have_ to get involved in the action, just wants to see what it _is_.

He grips the roof after the teleport with one massive hand, listening for the sounds of fighting coming from the alleyway below. Another burst of magic takes him to a flattened overhang to watch the action directly. _Now_ he gets it. Some guys cornered some chick in an alleyway.

Sans can’t help but be mildly surprised that the three-on-one isn’t working out so well for the three.

“F-fuck!” one guy hisses, holding what’s left of his nose together on his face, eyes and mouth dripping with his own sanguine fluids. “ _Shit!_ ”

He watches in quiet awe as you swing a disused lump of piping at a second man, your hair flinging about your face as you practically growl at him, while a third attempts to grab you. His arms find purchase around your sides, and that seems to give the other man the confidence to approach, but you raise both feet from the ground and land a well-aimed strike at his gonads. He goes down while the man holding you realizes he can’t support your weight very well. His grip loosens and you spin around and shove him against a trash dumpster, as hard as you can. He howls his pain as something in his arm cracks as it hits the sharp corner of metal, sliding down to the ground like so much garbage.

He finds himself in awe of you as you spin around to confront the bleeding one again, but he seems to see the ferocity in your expression as he turns tail and runs. The other two men are too damaged to continue as well, and they hobble out of the dark alleyway after him. You let out a soft, pained sigh as you throw the scrap metal you’d found off to the side.

He can’t help himself. Witnessing such events has him enthralled. You stumble back a step as a dark figure appears at the mouth of the alleyway. He faces you, clapping his large bony hands together slowly in congratulations. You glance behind you, as if considering whether you ought to fetch your weapon again. He notices, and chuckles at that.

“ **ain’t going to help you against _me_ , sweetheart,**” he grins. “ **but, i ain’t interested in starting shit with you. _damn_ lady, you put on a good show.** ”

“Afore ya ask, i ain’t buyin’ nor sellin’, neither,” you assert.

“ **got no interest in that,** ” he shrugs, his rough voice enunciating the harder consonants clearly. “ **just wanted to offer applause for that display. you look like a human _twig,_ but you _fight_ like a _monster_.** ”

“… You’re not human, are ya?” you realize. He is a fair bit taller than the average person, and his build was bulkier, proportioned differently. The glowing red eye in his left socket probably helped to give him away, too. “What are ya doin’ in my part o’ town?” you demand.

“ **oh, just taking in the sights,** ” he hums delightedly.

“Well, if you’re done sightseein’, then I recommend you head on out,” you insist. You look around on the ground for your bag, then once you find it haul it onto your shoulder. “Monsters ain’t welcome in this part o’ town.”

You’ll fight three human guys, but you’re _not_ going to fight him? Most humans don’t give a shit about monsters – easy kills, or so most think. Sans has already had his fair share of scuffles since they all surfaced over a year ago. He _knows_ what he’s capable of, and he knows that humans _often_ underestimate him. Boss monsters weren’t exactly easy to tell from the rest, least not until engaged in a fight, of course.

But, you? You don’t give him a second thought. You brush past him, bag on your shoulder, wiping at some blood on your lip. Did they hit you too? He hadn’t even noticed. He chuckles as he watches you head down the street, determined to get to whatever destination you had in mind.

Determined was a good word to describe you. After all, your soul was a very bold and bright _red_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I have very few ideas for this and I just wanted to try something a little different for a change of pace. Don't get your hopes up, someday this will be a dead fic XD Just ripping that Band-Aid off right now.
> 
> Reader's accent isn't going to stay for long, just so you know :P


	2. The Bar.

“ _Why_ are the damn lamps all lit?” you bark as you enter the dimly lit house. Oil is expensive damnit, and it feels like an _oven_ in here. You run around and start turning them down, cracking a window here and there to let some of the heat and smoke out.

“Hey _____,” your cousin greets you. Her red dress shines in the low light as she adjusts her feathered crown in her reflection.

“Oh hey Amelia, you going out?” you inquire.

“Just for a spell,” she grins. “How do I look?”

You roll your eyes, not that she can see it. “Like a flapper,” you answer, monotone. “Listen, I’m going to bed, are you going with anyone else? Because I’m not up to carrying you home tonight. It’s already past eight.”

“Charlie’s picking me up,” she beams into the mirror, trying to fit an earring to her ear. “And I don’t plan on coming back tonight,” she looks over at you and smirks.

Well, so long as she’s happy, you figure. “Oh, I made an extra dollar today,” you announce proudly. “One day soon, I’ll have enough. Just you wait.”

“You know you don’t have to worry about us, right?” Amelia gently reminds you.

“Well, _someone_ should. It’s not like my parents are of any help, sitting on that damn mansion while you, your mom and brother all rot in a slum house with no electrics.”

“Speaking of your parents, they posted you something. It’s on the table.”

You hum at that. “Was there money in it?”

“No, just the letter. Your mom’s singing the same old song.”

“Good, then we can save it for winter and use it as kindling,” you muse.

Amelia giggles at that. “Never change, _____.”

She pulls a black knitted shawl around her shoulders before giving you a hug, startling as there’s a knock on the door. You pull her in tight before letting her go, noticing how skinny she is. Her ruby lips kiss your cheek before she darts off to meet Charlie. You sigh softly to yourself as you wave her off, pulling the door shut after her and bolting it.

Stretching out on the small cot in the main living area, you pick up one of your battered texts and begin flipping through to find your last place, the only oil lamp left on behind and to the right of you for light.

* * *

 

“ **Another, if you would be so kind.** ”

The indigo flame attends to his empty glass as raucous laughter fills the other side of the dimly lit bar area. The slender skeleton grumbles his annoyance at his son’s antics, tapping his distals against the smooth mahogany surface. He would have to deal with him later, he figures.

“ **so, heh, as’i was sayin’,** ” Sans slurs. “ **this ‘uman girl was fuckin’ _fierce_ , i mean… _wow_. heheheh, undyne you ‘ould fight her sometime…** ” he hiccups.

Wait. _Human_ girl? Did he hear that correctly?

Undyne smashes her fist into the open palm of her other hand, golden eyes narrowing in challenge. “Name a time and a place, you _know_ I’m there,” she grins sharply.

Ridiculous woman, always trying to showcase her strength. Does she not realize that any average human would _win_ in a fair fight? Magic did balance the scales to a degree, but such was the nature of monster souls – in a prolonged battle, defeat to a human was almost assured.

Well, perhaps save for himself, of course. Near a thousand years in the Underground will temper a man like hardened steel. Multiple failed attempts on his life, by monsters then and by humans now, had increased his LV beyond traditional measure. He was without match.

Of course, perhaps he had just misheard the drunken ramblings of his eldest son.

“ **heheh. i’ll ‘ave to track ‘er down again. but yeah, this ‘uman, she beat up three guys, by _‘erself_. damn toughest broad i ever seen, ‘sides you o’course.** ”

When did Sans interact with a _human?_ He continues to eavesdrop, but is already making note of how to punish him for this transgression. Monsters and humans rarely intermix in this town, because when they do, the results are often bloody. The _last_ thing any monster needed was another _war_.

Gaster was a scientist first, a strategist second, and, given the circumstances of their resurfacing just over a year ago, a begrudging leader third. The only reason he had indulged in the latter two to maintain his tenuous control of his family’s territory, was so that he could ensure his work would continue with few interruptions. He had to ‘keep the peace’, as it were. It was a bitter arrangement, not one easily attained nor managed, but it was _working_ , and the _last_ thing he needed was Sans overstepping.

“Well, what colour was her soul?” one of the dog guards asks, nudging a drunk skeleton as he cackles hoarsely.

“I bet it was Bravery – Too dumb to run away,” Undyne scoffs.

“Well, it sure as shit weren’t Kindness!” another voice, belonging to a bird monster, harshly crows.

“ **hah! get me ‘nother drink an’ i’ll tell all o’ ya,** ” the skeleton bargains.

Gaster’s eye lights roll in his sockets, then makes a gesture towards Grillby to fill a glass. Perhaps it’s time he got involved. The indigo flame nods his understanding, and after a moment of pouring presents a drink. His long phalanges encircle the glass, lifting it from the bar counter to bring with him.

The room goes silent as everyone’s heads turn round to watch the scientist’s steady approach. Sans takes a hard gulp of the last of his swill before meeting the boss’ eyes.

“ **I have brought a drink, as requested,** ” he highlights, holding up the glass . “ **Do _continue_ with your tale.** ”

“ **uhh, sh-shi- u-uhh,** ” Sans stutters, suddenly guarded. Gaster’s sockets narrow as he fails to comply with orders. He coughs as he begins to quickly sober. “ **sh-she, i mean, this _human_ broad, she, her soul, was, uh, real bright. brighter than, uh, any i’ve seen before. for an adult, i m-mean.** ”

“ **What colour _was_ it, Sans?** ” Gaster demands.

“ **… red. it was red, boss.** ”

Glass shatters. His eye sockets widen as his ceramic lips part in surprise. The room is otherwise silent, a wet pool spreading on the wooden floor at the Don’s feet.

He brings up his long skeletal hands to run them down his face as he parses this information. _Determination_. This random woman’s primary aspect was Determination. She was a _mage_ , and a _powerful_ one at that, to have a soul so blazingly bright in colour. Apart from the royal children, he did not think any were left. What are his next steps? He has to take a moment to consider.

“ **… When you meet her again, bring her to me,** ” he orders authoritatively.

“ **s-sure, boss, heh. if i ever-** “

“ ** _No,_** ” he barks suddenly, silencing the shorter skeleton. “ **Not if. _When_. You will _not_ leave this to chance. You will _find_ her once more, and you will _bring_ her directly to _me_ , _without_ delay. You have no other priorities _higher_ than this one. Is that _clear?_** ” he tests.

“ **c-crystal, boss,** ” his whelp stammers.

“ **For the rest of you,** ” his powerful voice booms, making eye contact with each of the other monsters in the group in turn. “ **New standing orders; Should you ever encounter a human with a red soul, particularly a _female_ , you will _also_ bring them straight to me without hesitation. Understood?** ”

Assorted murmurs and sounds of assent fill the room around him.

“ **… Excellent,** ” he hums, pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap.


	3. The Skeleton.

The very next evening on your way home from the shop, you run into a memorable skeleton monster again. He’s leaned against a brown brick building in an alley along the way, but stands away from it as you approach. He’s dressed to the nines in polished black shoes, brown slacks and suspenders, a collared dress shirt, and a fedora he’s tipped in deference to you.

“Thought I told ya to get on outta these parts,” you grumble at him.

The rim of his hat tilts back as he releases it from between his bone fingers, revealing that one glowing red eye. At the far left of his smile is a tooth made of gold.

“ **it’s your lucky night, sweetheart - the boss wants to talk to you,** ” he greets.

The boss? Well, whoever it is, you quickly decide they don’t matter – you’ve got to get back and make sure everyone’s had a proper dinner. Rolling your eyes, you move to pass him, but his large body blocks the way. You heave a sigh at that. “I ain’t got _nothin’_ to say to ‘im,” you declare.

“ **well, _apparently_ , he’s got plenty to say to you,**” he says gruffly.

“Not interested,” you bark back, moving to go around him again.

A large hand grabs you by the arm, locking you in place. Damn, he’s a whole lot _stronger_ than he looks, considering he doesn’t have any muscle on his peculiar body made of bones. You try to jerk your arm away, but his grip holds you firm.

“ **i wasn’t _askin’_ ,**” he grins sharply.

To your surprise, he lets you go the next time you go to wrest your arm away. A triumphant thrill runs through you at the minor victory over the large monster. That is, until you take a look ‘round. You’re somewhere different now.

Your attention is drawn up towards a chandelier high above you, fancy electric lights set against hanging glass beads. Or maybe they’re crystal? The walls are adorned with some fancy wallpaper, with not a seam in sight, carved wooden accents along where it meets the high ceilings and down along the floor. The floor itself looks like some kind of fancy marble, predominantly white in colour with dark streaks and shine. Not only does the entry room quickly catch your fancy – as you can see some stairs spiraling skyward through an archway to the next - but some mighty fine smells of roasting meats and baking bread are coming from somewhere, cueing all your senses and alerting you to your empty stomach.

Then you turn your gaze back on the skeleton, grinning down at you like he’s so proud of himself.

“You _COCK!_ ” you scream at him as you take a swing at him. He chuckles as he stumbles back a step out of the way, fueling your annoyance. _Wherever_ this is, that slimy bag of bones just _kidnapped_ you!

“ **whoa there, sweetheart,** ” he remarks tauntingly.

He hisses a breath as you close in for another swing, but before it connects he vanishes from sight. You stumble a step or two from the momentum behind it. How the crap does he _do_ that!?

Rasping laughter echoes through the chamber. Wheeling around you see that he’s on the stairs now, leaning against the railing, grinning like a damned jack-o-lantern at Hallowe’en. How’re you supposed to catch up to some guy that can disappear and reappear at will? Huffing, you turn towards the door instead. No one’s by it, so maybe you can just find your own way back.

Of course, the moment your back’s turned and turning the knob he’s behind you again to keep you from going. Large arms move to encircle you, but you expected he would try and stop you, plus you’re quicker than he is, so you slam an elbow solid against his sternum. He stumbles backwards in surprised pain at the same time you do, a throbbing pain racing up and down your arm. Tears sting your eyes as you bite back the howl of pain caught in your throat. Your arm isn’t going to be of much use to you in the near future.

“ **fucking _bitch_ ,**” he swears. A red smoke of some kind starts coming from his left eye. “ ** _fine_. if you’re so damn set on havin’ a bad time, then i’ve _got_ one for ya,** ” he sneers.

He surrounds himself with magic shapes – bones, of course they’re goddamn bones – glowing faintly blue in a wall around himself as some white skulls form over his head. You hold your ground, determined to see this fight to its bitter end.

Then again, how exactly can you keep this thing going? It doesn’t take a genius to realize that skeletons are a bit lacking in the soft and sensitive parts department. Not to mention the blinking from one spot to another, and the magic specters he was just in the middle of summoning from the pits of hell itself.

His face drops suddenly as the door opens behind you, his skull seeming to perspire. Then he regains his composure as he makes a confident smirk. “ **heh, just in time, boss. i brought the broad, and she’s hankering for a fight,** ” he announces.

You spin in place and press against the nearest wall behind, favouring your injured arm as you regard the newcomer. Another skeleton – just ‘cause one of them weren’t _enough_ to deal with right now – only much taller, skinnier, and far better dressed. He slowly removes his hat and places it to his chest, nodding his cracked face towards you in a quiet greeting. Then he looks over at the other one disdainfully.

“ **Stand down, Sans,** ” he orders. His voice is quite unlike that of the other one. Instead of harsh and haughty, his is cultured and smooth like honey.

But there’s something about it that’s just mild terrifying. Especially since, at his word, the skeleton Sans dismisses the magic he’d been working up, and looking very much like he just screwed the pooch on this one.

“ **Did he injure you, my dear?** ”

You look up, surprised that this exceptionally tall monster isn’t hitting his head on the ceilings, but it’s not hard to figure that that’s likely by design. He takes your hand in his and you wince as the pain shoots up to your shoulder and back down to your fingers, almost missing that the fragile bones are surprisingly warm. His skeletal hands have the longest fingers you’ve ever seen on a man. Well, supposing monsters aren’t quite like men, maybe that’s not so unusual.

“I hit ‘im,” you spit, belligerent. “An’, if you’re thinkin’ you can keep me here any longer then you’re _both_ outta your damn minds.”

The tall skeleton shoots a look of disdain towards the one named Sans, who responds in turn with a frightened expression. He then returns his gaze to you. “ **Would you allow me to attempt to heal the damage?** ” he asks, his voice soft and kind. It only serves to make you suspicious.

“It’ll heal a’right on its _own_ ,” you insist, pulling your hand away from his. “Now if you’ll pardon me,” you nod slightly, turning back towards the door. Before you can grasp the knob with your good arm again, long phalanges beat you to it. You grumble at that. What is it with skeletons suddenly wanting to keep you in their damned house?

“ **My lady, _please_ ,**” he insists, and you start working up your anger that he’s keeping you in as well. “ **I _do_ _apologize_ for my subordinate’s… _Methods_ , but I did not call for you just to see you depart so _promptly_.** ”

“Well then ain’t this your _unlucky day_ , sir, ‘cause I’ve got places to be, and I ain’t got a _lick_ o’ interest in a word _you’ve_ got to say,” you assert. Your next attempt to open the door is also blocked by him.

“ **I beg of you, reconsider,** ” he pleads, though his tone isn’t the pleading kind. “ **I have something I would very much like to discuss with you over dinner, and then I will have a car return you to your home.** ”

… Dinner? Your stomach betrays you with a noisy rumble as you again pick up on the scents of a meal cooking somewhere in this place. You bring a hand up to wipe at your lips, startlingly aware of your mouth getting wetter at the promise of food.

You try to weigh the pros and cons quickly. Another fact for consideration is that you actually don’t know where you’re at, just that it’s in the monster part of town, which is easily a two hour walk back assuming you can even navigate it. And that’s before thinking about the shadier parts of town you’d be passing through – a woman walking on her own through _there_ at this time of night was all sorts of trouble you didn’t want part of.

Huffing a sigh, you turn fully towards the ‘boss’. “You _swear_ on it? You’re gunna feed me and send me home and that’s _it?_ ”

You take a step back to make room as he suddenly kneels down, pressing his hat against his chest in a gesture of respect. “ **On my honour as a gentleman,** ” he proclaims.

“Shake on it,” you command, extending your good hand. He takes it as he smiles warmly at you, the crack at the far left of his maw causing him no trouble. “Well, a’right then. Pleasure to meet you sir, I’m _____ _____. What can I call ya, anyway?”

“ **I am Dr. Wingding Aster, head of the Dreemurr family,** ” he introduces gently. “ **Though you may also call me Gaster.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Narration's probably a mite bit clunky on this one, but it's bed time so I ain't gonna fix it :P


	4. The Dinner.

Why was the Don being so pleasant to this human girl? Sans couldn’t figure it out for the life of him. He begrudgingly heads over to the kitchen while you disappear up the spiral stairs, being led by the boss.

" **hey grillby,** " he calls into the busy kitchen. " **gaster's taking his meal in his study and he has a...** " How should he refer to you? " **... a _guest_.** " He supposes that'll do.

The indigo flame elemental nods his understanding before returning to his preparations, snapping noisily to his assistant to pay attention to the roast they're carving. The tawny cat monster’s ears go back in annoyance as his furred lips part slightly to show his teeth, but it’s his own damn fault for looking half asleep anyway.

It must’ve had something to do with your soul. That was the only explanation that Sans could think of. Not only was it bright in colour – when most humans he’d encountered had much darker souls, or at least adults – it was red. And the only other humans he knew with red souls, were the kids.

Come to think of it, the boss was partial to doting on them, too. Was there something about determined souls he just didn’t know about?

Maybe Alphys would know.

* * *

“ **Impressive, is it not?** ”

You take a gander at the large study he's led you to. It has a high ceiling just the same as the rest of the mansion you've been led through. The ceiling and walls are wood paneling, though they look like they've been polished smooth. The back wall is entirely made of bookshelves, filled to overflowing with leather-bound tomes, and there are several worktables to either side with stacks of paper and well-used notebooks. A set of heavy metal filing cabinets with locks is on the right wall. At the centre is a large flat desk, hosting the only light in the space in the form of some fancy lamp with a stained glass shade. Curious, you step over to it. It's not unlike the ones your mother fancied.

He moves around you to sit at his desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a bottle of scotch and a glass to fill. “ **Would you care for some?** ” he offers. “ **If not, wine will be brought with dinner.** ”

“I’s probably useless my asking, but where’d you get alcohol durin’ prohibition?” you inquire.

“ **Some of it is from the humans across the river, but most we ferment ourselves.** **Besides, I do not often get house calls from the police here at my private residence, so it is a non-issue, in terms of legality.** ”

“Makes sense,” you concede. It’s not like the law has actually stopped anybody. “Wine would be a’right,” you shrug, taking a seat in a wooden chair across from him. It looks like it was carved from one solid piece of wood. At least when he’s sitting at his desk he’s not so incredible tall. You’re almost at eye level with him like this.

He nods, noting your preference and taking his own seat in a more ornate piece of furniture, upholstered with a soft purple fabric, pouring himself a glass of the smoky scented liquid. He lifts the glass and gently swirls the liquid inside, savouring the scent.

“ **Ask me any questions you wish,** **about monsters or myself,** ” he instructs you. “ **I am certain you have many.** ”

Well, he’s awfully inviting. “If you’re the Don of the ‘Dreemurr’ family, why’s your last name Aster, sir?” you have to ask.

“ **I am not certain if you are aware of this, but, when we monsters dwelled Underground we still had a monarchy** **– a King and Queen. Upon surfacing, the King was arrested for some** **… _Egregious_ actions, that he felt that he must take to secure our freedom.**”

“I might’a heard somethin’ about all that business,” you hum thoughtfully. So far as you could tell it was just rumours, something about some lost kids turning up dead under Ebott, but the fact that he’d been arrested was news. So, were the rumours true?

“ **I see,** ” the skeleton’s cracked face shifts to a restrained smile. “ **Well, unfortunately, the Queen could not seem to assert her royal authority with the humans in his absence, so she elected to install me as the chief representative of her family, and to act as the leadership for all monsters.** ”

“That makes a lotta sense,” you nod sagely. “Men don’t like seein’ a woman in charge.”

“ **Which conveniently leads me to my _own_ question,** ” he brightens. “ **When Sans first encountered you, you were fighting against several men alone. Might I ask what compelled you to do so?** ”

Is _that_ what this whole thing’s about? He has his guy kidnap you to ask about that dumb scuffle last night? “They offered to rent my backside sir, and didn’t much like it when I told ‘em _no_ ,” you answer, folding your arms and leaning back in your seat. “And afore ya ask, I don’t try to make a habit of fightin’.”

His ivory face seems to fall in the lamplight at the news. “ **I find it _very_ concerning that you felt it necessary to battle them at _all_ , but I gather that you did not do so impulsively?**”

“Well, it was either I knock ‘em senseless and encourage ‘em to scram, or they take it outta my backside anyway,” you grumble. “I weren’t going to go down without a fight, and figured my best shot in either case was to bloody ‘em and give ‘em whatfor.”

His eye sockets seem to crease as he considers your words. You turn in your seat when you hear the door open behind you, watching with curiosity as a new monster brings in a large tray. Is he _fire?!_ Actual walking _fire_ brings over a tray with two plates on it. You stare in curious wonder at his blue and purple flames as he sets the platters down on the tidy desk between yourself and the skeleton. He is well-dressed as well, with a vest over a pale white dress shirt and dark slacks. How do his clothes not catch? It must be magic, you figure. You lean away from him instinctively as he sets the dinners he’s been carrying onto the desk, the air around him is a comfortable warm, not sweltering like you’d expect. His flames twist as he seems to throw you a smile afore withdraws, leaving the room and shutting the door behind himself as quick as he came.

“ **… _____?** ”

You snap back around at the sound of your name being called. “I wasn’t starin’ or nothin’,” you quickly claim.

The monster seems to chuckle at that. He uncorks the bottle in his long slender fingers easily and a powerfully sweet smell fills the air. Pouring the wine into one of the glasses provided, he then sets it near your flatware for the meal in front of you, real delicately.

You look down at the wine, the provided meal – it smells _delicious_ , roasted beef with steamed vegetables, your mouth waters at the scents hitting you – and then you look up at the slender skeleton sitting ahead of you, a no doubt suspicious expression crossing your face.

“Is’it my turn to ask a question again?” you query.

“ **Of course. Speak your mind and I will attempt to answer,** ” he reassures, raising his scotch glass to his odd bony lips. He certainly _looks_ the part of a skeleton, but there are a whole mess of inconsistencies about him.

“Well,” you start. “Actually, I’ve got a whole _bundle_ o’ questions to ask you sir. Why the hospitality? Why send your goon to get me an’ bring me here? What’s so terribly significant about me fightin’ off some drunk gutter trash? But, I guess a way to simplify matters would jus’ be to ask: Why me?”

There was definitely something that didn’t make sense here – apart from that one little incident the other night, you kept to yourself most times and avoided as much fuss as you could manage.

He sets the glass down softly as he hums, deliberating his answer. “ **Have you heard about the monster ability to natively see a person** **’s soul?** ”

You blink at that, then crook an eyebrow at him. “Are you about to try an’ sell me some kinda charm or somethin’?” you ask suspiciously, holding out a hand. “’Cause if ya’ _are_ , lemme stop you right there an’ tell you I ain’t the _least_ bit interested.”

He softly laughs at your assertion, waving a long-fingered hand absently in dismissal of the notion. “ **No, my dear, not at all. When Sans mentioned the fight he saw, he remarked on the uniqueness of your soul.** ”

He goes on to tell you all about soul colours as you sip at your wine and begin carving at the meat. You’re only half listening, especially once the warm food hits your mouth and settles comfortably in your belly, but you gather from his prattle that your soul is red, which is supposedly unique or something. He’s so busy talking and flailing his hands about that he hasn’t even touched his dish.

“Wait, what’d ya just say about magic?” you perk up.

“ **Another important characteristic of Determined souls is that humans with them can learn magic,** ” he repeats for you.

“I see. _Well_ ,” you hum, patting at your mouth with the silk napkin the cook brought earlier. “That’s _awfully_ fascinatin’ sir, in that I’m not sure I believe one damn word of it.”

Don Gaster blinks at your bold declaration. “ **I beg your pardon?** ”

“Now,” you say, standing and shoving the chair back, sliding your hands into the pockets of your trousers. “I appear to’ve eaten, an’ you swore you’d just send me home after, Mr. Gaster sir. So, I’d very much appreciate you makin’ good on that.”

“ **…** **I see,** ” he sighs. “ **Very well. I will return with you downstairs and call for someone to drive you.** ”

“Much appreciated. Oh, uh, one last thing, if i’s not too much ta ask?” you add. “May I ‘ave some leftovers of that roast to bring with, if there’s enough to go around? My family would certainly appreciate a warm meal.”

“ **My _word_ , I have not been keeping you from your _children_ , have I?**” he gasps.

You chuckle a bit at that, the wine working to making you feel warm and giddy. Shaking your head, you tell him “No sir, just my aunt and two cousins. No children are waitin’ on me.” His concern is a little endearing.

“ **I see,** ” he says, sounding relieved. Did his mouth just twitch into a small smile? “ **I will have my chef and his assistant put something together for you while I fetch the driver. Believe me, there is plenty to go around.** ”

“That’s awful nice of you sir,” you grin.

Awfully _suspicious_ , but, in exchange for the food? It might be worth giving him the benefit of the doubt, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The abrupt end of this chapter brought to you by some tiny brown eight-legged _asshole_ who did some _serious_ Mission Impossible **_bullshit_** to wind up hanging _RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY **FACE**_. I had to sacrifice my laptop _and my dog_ to get spray cleaner to nuke it with - My preferred form of chemical warfare, an environmentally friendly green cleaner that seems to melt the assholes' legs together - but in the five short seconds it took for me to arm myself, it fucking _disappeared_.
> 
> My livingroom is now a quarantined zone and it is Christmas day in about two and a half hours. Fuck I hate spiders why do they do this to my brain -_-;;


	5. The Guard.

“ **I want you to watch over her.** ”

Sans gulped nervously under the looming gaze of the Don. “ **uhh** **… beg your pardon sir?** ”

Gaster’s sockets crease in irritation. “ **You heard me adequately the _first_ time. Your new ongoing assignment is to ensure that girl is not _besieged_ by any more human _thugs_. Understood?** ”

It took some doing, but he finally got that scaly broad to cough up the info he needed. Supposedly, humans with determined souls could bear monster children, creating some powerful monsters known as hybrids. So what, he wants to _bed_ her or something? Sans wasn’t any kind of comfortable with the idea, but it did help to explain the boss’ fixation on that smart-mouthed _waif_.

Begrudgingly, he nods his compliance, figuring that maybe he can sort it out later.

“ **Good.** ”

“ **’** **ey, what about the queen** **’s brats?** ” he asks, realizing that he’s usually their guard.

Gaster straightens as he considers this. “ **Although their free roaming will ultimately be hindered,** **I will be assigning Undyne to the task. I will merely have to encourage them to keep closer to home.** ”

It almost sounds like the boss actually _forgot_ about ‘em. He must be _real_ fixated.

“ **alright,** ” he concedes. “ **how soon do i start?** ”

* * *

 

“Amelia! Paul! Auntie Deb! Haul your rears down here and see what I’ve got for all of you!”

You head over to the dinner table in the darkened house to set down the tray of food the Don sent you with. Sighing, you find some flatware and a reasonably clean rag, wiping it down and setting it out as you hear feet come down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” a sleepy Aunt Deb whispers at you.

“What smells amazing?” Paul follows her with his own question as he reaches the bottom.

“Sorry for the sudden wake-up, I’ve got hot delicious food to fill you with before you return to bed,” you tell them proudly, bringing a lamp over to the table to cast its light over the food. “Is Amelia in tonight?”

“I think so. I’ll wake her,” Paul nods, heading back upstairs.

You scrape some of the meat on a small cracked bit of flat china and offer it to your aunt. “Eat up Deb, you’re thin as a rail.”

She accepts your offering and looks it over apprehensively. “Where did you get this?” she asks, her gentle voice still muted from sleep.

Paul and Amelia stomp down the stairs at that moment, Amelia’s eyes widening as she stops to inhale.

“It looks like you stole food from some fancy party,” Amelia supposes.

“Might have,” you grin. “Come on, eat! Eat!”

You offer food to your cousins and sneak a small slice for your own, encouraging them to all get their fill.

“This is delicious,” Paul mumbles.

“Where on earth did this all come from?” your auntie asks.

“Does it matter any?” you chuckle. “You’d _never_ guess it if I gave you a _hundred_ tries.”

“Mmm, it’s still warm,” Amelia moans in delight.

“Have more. Have as _much_ as you like, make it gone.”

She looks up at you in betrayal. “But I’ll get fat!”

“ _Good_.” Paul chuckles through a mouthful of roast.

Amelia gasps. “ __-_____!_ ”

“Relax, not from one proper meal you won’t,” you continue to insist. Besides, you’d like to see more skin on her bones in particular. “Get all of it in your bellies tonight and go to bed full for once, alright?” you order. “I’m going to turn in.”

You settle in on the cot and pull your text out from under your pillow. Paul looks up from the food to read the cover.

“… ‘Advanced Automotive Repair’? You know no one’s going to take you serious,” he accuses.

Shrugging, you throw him a smile. “Just ‘cause I’m female don’t mean my hands don’t work. ‘Sides, it’s better than hookin’ like Amelia.”

Your female cousin gasps, throwing you an accusatory glare.

“I ain’t judgin’ Amelia, I know what things are like,” you reassure her.

“Even still,” Paul reminds you. “You’ll be hard pressed to find handy work like that as a woman.”

“I’ll only need someone to give me a chance,” you sigh. “And I want to be ready, even if that chance never comes.” 

* * *

 

The next morning you pack your bag with a roll and some cheese for lunch, having already had a slice or two of the leftover roast. Your aunt and cousins had gotten their fill sooner than you’d like, to the point of almost being sick, so you chased them off to bed. At least it was cooked and wouldn’t be too spoiled yet. You briefly consider bringing your textbook, but decide it’ll be safer at home. Besides, reading it at the counter would only provoke unwelcome scrutiny from the shop’s few patrons.

Slinging it over your shoulder, you head for the door and open it.

You’d head on out as planned, if it weren’t for a familiar skeleton monster standing in your way.

“ **mornin** **’ sweetheart,** ” he grins, tipping his hat.

Growling, you grab him by the arm bones and try to pull him inside, out of sight of passers-by. He resists just to be irritating, of course, and you curse him while you continue in your frantic yanking.

“Get yer damn hide in ‘ere, you ugly beast o’ hell!”

“ **watch your words, darlin** **’. you might hurt my feelings.** ”

“There ain’t _enough_ inside o’ ya to _have_ feelings,” you groan at the skeleton. “Do you wan’ the whole _street_ to see ya?!” The folk around here aren’t exactly the friendliest in town, least of all to _monsters_.

Having his fill and sharp smile laced in mirth, he finally relents and steps inside, infuriatingly taking his time like he’s oblivious of your hand on his hard arm. His bones dwarf yours even without skin. You slam the door behind him and latch it.

“The hell ‘re _you_ doin’ here?” you spit.

“_____? Is someone there?”

You panic and get between him and the stairs. “Go back to your sewing, Aunt Deb,” you holler.

Of course, her light footsteps only come nearer in spite of you. “I heard a man’s voice, _____, who is- Oh!”

Too late, you figure. She’s already laid eyes on him. His wide smile widens ever more, and he bows his head and tips his hat as if he were some kind of gentleman.

Her hand grips the shoulder of your shirt, balling the fabric anxiously underneath her slight fingers, and you keep your arms out to keep her behind you.

“ **mornin** **’, ma** **’am,** ” the monster greets your aunt in that rasping voice of his.

“You know this monster?” Deb asks behind you, surprised.

“I’d have preferred _not_ to,” you scowl.

“ **calm yourself, sweetheart. i ain** **’t gonna bite,** ” he smiles, showing off rows of razor sharp teeth.

“Then what are you here for?”

“ **you.** ”


End file.
